Isabelle Wels Whore ❤️

About Linz

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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This is an appendix list of Welsh terms considered vulgar, according to Geiriadur yr Academi, with their English equivalents.

The streets, man, they're so quirky. I often stroll along Linzerstrasse, checking out little cafes and bars. I’ve spent too many nights chattin' with locals; sometimes it even sounds like lines from "The Grand Budapest Hotel," all whimsical and oddball. “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” you know? I mean, come on, every street here has got its own personality! And hey, I flitted around the city like a mad butterfly, livin' life like Marilyn Monroe would – breathless, sassy, no filter.

Out From Under the Crushing Weight – March 30, 2025